


Rushing on the Run

by unpocoloco18



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Baristas, Coffee, Espionage, F/M, Revenge, Romance, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, The summary SUCKS I like to think the story is better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpocoloco18/pseuds/unpocoloco18
Summary: Barista by day, agent by night, Imelda Morillo works on the lowest possible radar to keep citizens safe. Héctor Rivera really wasn't planning on a new partner, and honestly: neither was either of their organizations. Ernesto de la Cruz? Out for revenge, no big deal - and why not cause havoc in the process?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my readers! Welcome to a new modern AU Imector saga. I'm terrible at summaries and always have been. Do me a big favor and ignore this one, because I would really love to think that this story is a whole lot more interesting and probably badass than that summary is.  
> You will notice in this opening chapter that one of the members of the Rivera family, film wise anyway, turns up. You will also notice that she is not a part of either Imelda's or Héctor's literal family here. That is how most of this will go. I do have plans to work in some of the other Rivera family members, though not Miguel at the present time, but they may or may not still be literal relatives.  
> This is very, _very_ much an AU. I like to think Imelda's and Héctor's characters and quirks from the film make it through, as they are both very precious to me, but I have added on to both.  
>  I write in spurts, so chapters will likely not usually be very long, around the 1k-2k mark. I'd rather update with shorter chapters instead of not updating at all.  
> This is rated T for the present time, although there is the potential I may up it to M in the future, primarily for language.  
> I owe you a bunch if you made it this far through my yapping. Please enjoy the chapter, leave reviews (you know they are my life blood, guys), and thank you all for being on this page. Much love.

Her mind willed her eyes to open, but Imelda’s eyes begged her to ignore it. Five am was too ungodly of a time to even think about getting up, much less dealing with the world.

The phone’s alarm went off for the third time. Imelda huffed and dragged herself into a sitting position, mentally reminding herself to smack the previous evening’s her for deciding to set the phone on the opposite side of the room.

_Damn it._

She shoved the covers off, balling them into the foot of the bed, and stomped over to her phone, silencing the insistent and far-too-cheery tune. Her eyelids felt heavy, too heavy, heavy enough that she briefly considered falling back into bed for a few minutes.

“Not if you want to keep your job, Imelda,” she chastised herself out loud. “You know perfectly well you won’t get up for another hour.” An hour would be too long. In an hour, she needed to be perky as all hell and have coffee percolating at work, cheerfully serving the morning commuters their caffeine fix. _Ugh._ Imelda groaned and muttered a few choice comments under her breath.

_This is fine, Imelda, this is fine. You love coffee, you love caffeine, you got this. Everything is fine._

Yanking a skirt and blouse out of her dresser perhaps a little more violently than was necessary, Imelda headed for her bathroom and ordered herself to start the day.

* * *

 

Victoria was already waiting outside the cafe when Imelda arrived at five forty-five on the dot.

“’Morning, Imelda.”

“’Morning, Tor.”

Victoria gave her a look. “Rough morning?”

“Oh no, just the usual. You know I love dragging myself out of bed at five am.”

Victoria chuckled, giving her friend and co-worker a quick hug in the process. “I still don’t know why you work opening shifts, Imelda. A morning person getting up at the crack of dawn: doesn’t really sound conducive to keeping you happy.”

“Hey, I need the hours,” Imelda shrugged, wrestling the café’s lock open and waving her friend inside. “I’m a big girl. Be responsible, get out of bed in a timely manner and all that.”:

Victoria flicked on the lights and started pulling the chairs down for the day. “Speaking of being in bed…” She allowed her voice to trail off and waggled her eyebrows.

Imelda pretended to ignore her, switching on the espresso machines and watching a tad too intently as they gurgled to life. “Hey, looks like they’re calibrating okay today. They were pulling _eleven second shots_ yesterday. Blech.”

“ _Imelda_ , come on. How was the night out?”

She wasn’t going to get out of this. “Tor, please tell me you’re not going to ask about the date.” She had gone out the night before, under a bit of duress and encouragement from Victoria, to dinner with a café regular. It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to go out, but god, her life just did not allow for those complications right now.

“I’m going to ask. And probably make a few inappropriate comments.”

“We went out. Had dinner.” She switched on the pastry case lights. “What blend do you want to brew today? Light like your overly interested attitude? Dark like my soul?”

“Dark like your soul. So you went to dinner?” Victoria leaned both elbows on the counter, grinning.

Imelda paused a moment, scooping the beans into the grinder. “We went to dinner. He took me home, tried to kiss me, I dodged, I said goodnight.” The grinder hummed to life, the crunch of the coffee beans pronouncing an end to her date exploits.

“And?”

“And nothing. I sent him on his not-so-merry way.”

Victoria blew a stray hair out of her face. “Damn it, Imelda. I thought the guy was perfect for you.”

“Right, because someone checking me out while I make cappuccinos always turns me on,” she returned with a wry laugh. “I don’t like being flirted with at work, Tor. Never have, never will. I can’t really tell someone to f off in a _customer service job_ now, can I?”

“I mean, in theory, yeah you _could_.” Victoria was restocking their milk now, yelling her reply from the back room.

“Oh I’m sure that would turn out just lovely. Unfortunately, I rather enjoy having money in the bank and the damn rent being paid.”

“I said you _could_.” Victoria lined the gallons up in their refrigerators, huffing a bit. “I did not say it would turn out lovely, which I can say from the personal experience of telling a slimy douchebag to f off and being fired from my last job.”

Imelda burst out laughing. “That’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard. Anyway, you see my point.” She flipped the sign on the door. “As much as I appreciate the investment in my romantic and lack of a sex life,” she gestured toward the door of the café, “we’ve got caffeine to serve. Allow the thundering herd to . . .” a conducting gesture was inserted, “ _commence.”_

* * *

 

The morning rush flew by, a blur of steamed milk, far-too-sticky pastries, and, thank the lord, caffeine. Coffee Cacophony was situated right along the most used route for business commuters in the weekday mornings, a fact that Imelda was sure was taken into account when the café had opened. She, for her part, turned into somewhat of a whirling dervish between six and nine every morning, pumping out lattes and mochas, trying to explain that a no-foam cappuccino can’t exist or be served, and then forcing it to exist and be served anyway. She had learned long ago that there was little point in having that argument or pretty much any other with most of the morning coffee customers, so she and Victoria simply made what was asked and more than likely complained to each other about it later.

The café had cleared out by nine thirty am, most of their morning base already snugly behind their desks by that point. Imelda let out a sigh and held her arms out in front of her, pursing her lips at the mosaic of coffee splatters and syrup sugar that adorned them at the moment.

“Go take a break, girl,” Victoria offered. “I can handle it for a few minutes.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Imelda ducked into the backroom with her own doppio, gulping it as she sat down and pulled out her phone.

There was just one message.

##### Underway.

_Shit._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves from behind a door*  
> Hi guys. Really proud (not to mention thankful!!!) for whoever is still out there willing to read a new chapter. Life got in the way. Again, this chapter is much shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to update, and I'd rather get this done this way than not at all. The rating has moved up to M to account for language. I'm sure you all think I'm full of it at this point, and you're probably not too far off base, but I hope to get another installment up in a few days. Love you all!

Imelda got back to her apartment just three hours later, but it was three hours too long for her. Not just because she thought she’d pull her hair out if just one more person took someone else’s drink. ‘Underway’ could only mean one thing and she was not looking forward to it.

She knew she was expected to check in as soon as possible, but surely she could have some lunch first? A busy opening shift left barely any time for herself or Tor to take a break and ingest caffeine, let alone a meal of any sort. But no, she reasoned, they would know. They knew she was aware of the gravity of the situation and she could not jeopardize her reputation or her respect by giving the appearance of treating it with any less delicacy than it deserved.

It put her in a bad mood as she stalked up the stairs to her door, barely giving a nod to her downstairs neighbor as he waved hello, walking that dog of his. He had dropped by when she moved into this place, all awkward attractiveness until she nearly closed the door in his face. Damn him. Why was he always so cheery anyway? Just what was there to be cheery about?  It satisfied her much more to slam her front door behind her instead, before beginning to pace across her living room floor.

_Calm, cool, collected. Cool it, Imelda. Make the call._

She let out a deep breath and then breathed in, pulling out her phone as she did so. The line rung . . . and then rung again. It clicked in the middle of the third ring.

“ID?”

“Morillo, Imelda. Number 180072.”

A beep, a few taps . . . and then the line picked up.

“Okay it’s me. Do I want to know what provoked an underway text?”

“Probably not. The de la Cruz case broke.” Her boss sounded equal parts annoyed and stressed, and she hadn't heard that combo from Carmen since . . . a while.

“How has that broken already? We haven’t heard high nor tail of that guy for the last six months.” Imelda could hear Carmen’s heels clicking on her end of the line.

“Yeah, well, we suddenly heard high and tail of him. We think he’s gearing up for something big.”

“Oh, the old disappear for six months and come back with a bang technique?” Imelda flopped backwards onto her sofa, letting out a wry laugh. “Seems typical.”

“You could say that. We don’t really know _what_ exactly he’s doing, but our intel has placed him at the same address for the past two and a half weeks.”

“In the city?”

“Yes. This guy was hopping around from address to address before we lost him, so I don’t like it that he’s actually staying put for once.”

Imelda ran a hand over her face. “Maybe waiting for a shipment of something?”

“Unlikely. If it was just one shipment he could get it and move on. He _hasn’t moved._ ” Imelda could picture her boss screwing up her face.

“Well that . . . sounds fun. What’s our move?”

“I want you to check it out. See what you can get on what he’s doing.”

“I imagine you don’t want me to pop in on a Monday afternoon with a hi how are you doing and sit down for tea.” She at least got a chuckle out of Carmen for that one.

“No. Get in, get out, _do not let him know you were ever there_.”

“My favorite. Where am I going?” Carmen rattled off an address then, that Imelda recognized as being nearly smack dab in the business sector of the city.

_Fancy._

“Okay, got it. I’ll let you know.” Imelda was about to hang up when she heard Carmen audibly pause on the other end. “What?”

“I think you should have backup on this one. Take someone with you. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

Imelda’s face went blank. _“It’s not your fault, Imelda . . . not your fault,” a voice said, and then nothing as the sky closed in on her._

She shook her head forcefully. “I’ll be fine. It should just be a quick thing.”

“Really, Imelda, I think you should think about-”

“I work alone, Carmen,” she cut her off. “I’ll report back.” Imelda hung up and tossed the phone on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Imelda had long been of the opinion that agents worked best in the dark. Or rather, that _she_ worked best in the dark. There was the obvious advantage of other people not seeing you, but she felt more comfortable blanketed in the blackness anyway. She was inescapably alone, and she liked it that way. No one to worry about, friend or enemy, but herself.

The moment night fully covered the city at eight fifteen pm, she was out of her apartment and on the way to the address Carmen had given her. She parked her car two blocks down and walked the rest of the way. The address was, in fact, within an office building, and a rather swanky one at that, Imelda noted. It looked like the kind of place executive officers frequented, the type that assistants were overworked in and probably were sent out for lunches or coffee. The lobby doors were not locked, but the lights had been dimmed, and she saw no one on the entire floor. The place was like a courtyard, all airiness in the middle with desk cubicles, all currently vacant, along the left and right walls. The back wall served as home for a row of elevators.

The dead silence of the place made Imelda uneasy. Quietness was one thing, but this place was drop-a-pin-and-the-next-four-blocks-hears-it quiet.

_Calm down, girl. It’s eight thirty and these people go home at five. Go. Go do your job._

She strode towards the nearest upward elevator and summoned it with the button. It arrived a few seconds later with a ding, and she marched in, pressing the button for the second floor. As the elevator whirred to life and started up with a slight jerk, Imelda pulled the paper with the address from her pocket.

_2 nd floor, suite 146. _

It nagged at her that someone as adept at escaping trails as de la Cruz had allowed himself to be so specifically pinpointed. A building was one thing, but a floor and the goddamn _suite._ Why don’t he just invite her and the entire division over for coffee? The elevator doors opened just as she finished that thought, revealing a completely dark floor. Every single light in the place was off and the shades must have been down too, because while Imelda considered herself somewhat good at seeing in the dark, she couldn’t see a solitary thing.

She groaned and pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket before stepping out. There were no offices on this floor. Just . . . boxes.

_Storage?_

It was odd. The address had a suite number but it seemed to almost encompass the entire second floor of the building, for there were no other visible suites to be seen. The area was nearly as large as the entryway courtyard setup as far as she could tell. But then, there were so many damn boxes, she noted with annoyance as she walked right into a low stack, there was really no way to be sure.

_What the hell is the guy doing, setting up for opening day in a stockroom?_

The boxes she had walked into had fallen over, and she kneeled to pick one up. It fell out of her hand. Empty.

_What the-_

The next two stacks were all empty too. Imelda moved gingerly between the precariously balanced rows, ensuring nothing was disturbed.

_If I was carrying out some vague ominous plan, I think I’d put things the farthest possible distance away from anyone possible and-_

She made it to the nearest wall and pried the top box open.

_Bingo._

There was _something_ in it. She wasn’t sure what it was. There was only two small vials in this comparably ridiculously large box, each measuring maybe 2 inches long. Imelda was just about to photograph one when she heard it.

Frankly, she wasn’t even sure what the damn noise was, but it was a _noise_ , and that meant someone else was here. Boxes do not move on their own. Muttering a quiet ‘ _shit’_ in her head, Imelda snapped off her light and ducked behind the tallest row of boxes.

_Squeak._

A shoe. Definitely a footfall. And probably de la Cruz or one of his guys. No one even knew the dude was here. Except her. And Carmen. And apparently whoever the hell this was.

She didn’t move a muscle, but maybe fifteen seconds later, she felt an uncomfortably harsh grip on her shoulder.

_SHIT._

There was no time to think, and definitely no time to even consider turning on a light. Not like she could get to one anyway. Imelda grabbed the hand on her shoulder and the arm attached to it, rising from the floor as she did so. It wasn’t like judo flips were useful in the field, but in the pitch dark, it was enough to disorient someone enough to get her the upper hand. The person hit the ground with an audible groan and Imelda grasped for her flashlight, giving her enough visual to deliver a perfectly aimed blow at the side of their head, right between the hairline and eyebrows.

They were definitely out.

She knew it wouldn’t do any permanent damage, but whoever it was would have one hell of a headache when they woke up. And probably be plenty pissed at her too.

_Okay, Imelda. Get the hell out._

She shone her light on the now unconscious person.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me._

The slightly shaggy hair, the small goatee, and _those eyebrows_. Her neighbor.

_You are so screwed, Imelda._

De la Cruz had to have known where she lived, she reasoned. Even tailed her. Cute. Very cute.

She still needed something though. She rubbed her shoulder, and reopened the vial box. There was no way she was leaving with nothing.

Just in case, a quick photo of the box and its contents was snapped on her phone, and then she gingerly lifted one of the vials. It was odd; it looked almost clear on first glance, like there was nothing in it. But when she held it up to her flashlight, the liquid inside took on an almost brown tinge. She furrowed her brows. It was doubtful that anything de la Cruz went to this much trouble to hide was something she wanted to get any closer to, especially something in a damn _vial_. It might burn her skin off for all she knew. But neither she nor Carmen could get any closer to answers with a picture of liquid they couldn’t identify. She replaced the vial in the box and closed it, everything back to as it had been. Not that it mattered. She was pretty sure the guy on the floor was going to remember being knocked out.

A quick sweep of her light around the room revealed a desk on the opposite wall, and she gasped a little bit with exhilaration. Thank god. Something she could use. The desk was positioned directly in front of a window that, as she had thought, had the shade pulled nearly all the way down. Imelda kept her head beneath its line of sight though, just to be safe.

The desk was almost excruciatingly well organized. Each drawer was full of filing folders, each labeled and home to a stack of what looked like receipts and business correspondence. On the third drawer, an unlabeled folder was wedged between its labeled associates, and there was only one sheet in it. That was interesting.

What was even more interesting was that it was filled front and back with handwritten addresses and phone numbers.

_Amateur._

Imelda couldn’t decide if this guy was completely ignorant or _wanted_ someone to find this thing, but it reeked of a contact list. Two more photos added to the phone.

She glanced over to the man on the floor but he hadn’t stirred. A glance out the sliver of window, though, revealed a masculine figure walking towards the building. He wore a hat and the angle obscured his face, but she heard the elevator’s whirring after he disappeared from sight, and that made her fairly certain of who she had seen. Time to go.


End file.
